A place to go to understand why "Spanking" is so important to us and how to incorporate this desire into our life!

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Another Great One!

Melissa and Amy were eleven. Very grown-up, especially Melissa. She was auburn-haired, freckled and blue-eyed. Three inches taller, than little five foot blonde Amy. Melissa even wore a bra, more than that, she **needed** to wear a bra! Melissa was bubbly and smart and Amy's very best friend in the whole world. She, also, was forever getting Amy into trouble. Not the type of trouble Melissa got herself into, but trouble none the less. Melissa and Amy were eleven and it was a Friday night sleepover. Winter time...

"Where did you say you wanted to go, lady?"

Amy looked up at the cab driver. She wasn't eleven anymore. No, she was twenty-two and home for a visit. She had hailed a cab at the airport, not calling mom or dad to pick her up. Because it wasn't mom or dad Amy had come to see.

"640 Woodlawn Lane," Amy told the driver and settled back against the cracked upholstery. The cab smelled of cigarette smoke and stale candy.

Snow pelted the windows like little bullets. The back windows fogged and Amy took one gloved fingertip and wrote her initials in misted windowpane. Just like she and Melissa had done. They were eleven. It was winter time...

"C'mon, Miss Goody-goody, baby-butt!" Melissa taunted, standing at the door of her parents bedroom. A room that both Amy and Melissa had been strictly forbidden to enter, by Mrs. Monroe, Melissa's mother.

"No, we better not, Missy, your mom will be back with the pizza soon," Amy replied, looking over her shoulder, imagining Mrs. Monroe coming up the stairs and finding them standing at doorway of her bedroom. As if it were naughty just to be thinking about entering.

"Chicken, chicken, baby-butt!" Melissa said, placing a hand on her round, little hip and looking disgusted with her cowardly friend, "Well, **I** am going in there! It is **my** house too and I can go into any room I want!"

Amy sighed as Melissa flipped a strand of her curly, chestnut hair over one shoulder and strutted into her parent's room. Reluctantly, most everything Amy did with Melissa was reluctant, she followed her friend into forbiddened land.

The bedroom was immaculate. Done in colors of dusty rose and cream. It was beautiful and perfect, just like Mrs. Monroe. Melissa immediately went over to her mother's dressing table and picked up a bottle of perfume. She squirted it all over herself.

"Missy! Don't, your mom will smell it on you!"

"No, she won't! She wears so much of this junk, she will never smell it on me!", Melissa replied, opening her mother's makeup case.

The contents spilling out, lipsticks rolling on the floor, eyeshadows scattering everywhere and a container of powder spilling out onto the highly polished dresser surface.

It was later that night. Much later. After pizza and popcorn. Playing Monopoly with Melissa and Mrs. Monroe (Melissa won, she **always** won). Toothbrushing and baby doll pajamas. Mrs. Monroe had not gone up to her room, even once. Maybe she had not had time.

Melissa and Amy were in bed, giggling and talking about boys and weird Mrs. Crandall, their sixth grade gym teacher. They barely noticed when Mrs. Monroe came into the room. When they looked up, they did notice the grim expression on her face.

"Melissa Ann, were you in my room?" Mrs. Monroe asked, quietly.

Melissa glanced nervously at Amy, then replied, "No, Mommy."

"Don't you lie to me, young lady."

"I'm not lying, Mommy, I am not!" Melissa pouted.

Amy pulled the covers up under her chin and tried not to look at Mrs. Monroe at all. She liked Melissa's mother and didn't want to lie to her. She hoped that she wouldn't ask her any questions.

"Melissa, my makeup case is a mess. There are two broken lipsticks and you spilled my new bottle of Chanel all over the carpet!"

"But Mommy, I didn't... "

"Oh yes, you did, young lady! What you did was bad enough, but lying makes it ten times worse! Didn't we have a little talk about lying just last week, Melissa?"

Melissa's lower lip stuck out further and she managed a cranky, little nod.

"And what happened after you lied to Mommy last week?"

Melissa looked up and her eyes suddenly widen. Amy, who was creeping further and further under the covers, noticed the blush that spread slowly over her best friend's face.

"Answer me, Melissa!"

"I got a spanking," Melissa finally managed to mumble.

"That's right, you got a spanking. You know when you act like a child, Mommy treats you like a child," Mrs. Monroe said, sitting down on the little bench at the front of Melissa's bed, "Come over to Mommy, Melissa."

"Mommy, no, you can't--"

"Right now or shall I just tell Daddy when he gets home later tonight?" Mrs. Monroe said, her pretty face looking quite determined.

"No! Don't tell Daddy!" Melissa whined.

Amy had drawn the covers over her nose, her big, hazel eyes, peering over the quilt at both Melissa and her mother. She knew that Melissa still got spanked. Her friend had complained about being treated like a baby by her parents. Her daddy used a special paddle, that he kept in the closet. Melissa said he made her get it for him before he spanked her. According to Melissa, her daddy didn't spank her often, but when he did, he spanked her hard. Mommy was usually the one who disciplined her naughty daughter. With her hand or if she was really bad, the hairbrush. Amy's heartbeat quickened as she wondered if spilling perfume warranted the hairbrush.

Slowly, a pouting Melissa walked over to her mother, whining the entire time, "Please, Mommy, don't spank me in front of Amy, please Mommy! It was Amy's fault!"

Amy crept farther under the covers when she heard her best friend's lie. Would Mrs. Monroe believe Melissa?

Would she spank Amy too? Amy began to feel trembly all over.

Mrs. Monroe said nothing, just took her daughter by the wrist and flipped her easily over her lap. Melissa gave a little squeak of protest, as her mother lifted her bottom up higher, in a perfect spanking position. She pushed her daughter's nightie up above her hips, revealing white cotton panties decorated with tiny pink hearts.

"Mommy, please, don't spank me here! Please!"

"No, Amy should see what happens to naughty little girls that lie to their mothers," Mrs. Monroe told her firmly, then hooked her fingers into the waistband of Melissa's panties.

"Now, now, you move those hands away immediately, young lady, or I will tell Daddy when he gets home!" Mrs. Monroe warned. Whimpering, Melissa moved her hands away, clasping them in front of her, as if praying. "You know a good spanking must be given on your bare bottom. You have always been spanked that way and I see no reason to stop now."

With that statement, Mrs. Monroe slowly peeled down her daughter's panties, revealing her pale, lightly freckled bottom cheeks. Melissa was well-developed, her bare fanny round and girlish. Amy could see the goosebumps break out all over Melissa's exposed flesh. Little shivers went through Amy's body and she clutched the covers around her tightly.

"Please, Mommy, not in front of Amy, oh pleeeese!"

Mrs. Monroe replied by picking up a large, paddle-shaped wooden hairbrush and lightly tapping it against Melissa's behind.

"Not the hairbrush, please, not the hairbrush!"

"If you had not lied to me, Melissa, I would have only used my hand. But you lied and now I am going to blister your naughty little tushie for you good!"

The first smack of the hairbrush made both Amy and Melissa jump. Melissa was the only one who cried out OUCH! Mrs. Monroe's spanks were slow and deliberate, first one cheek, then the other. Each smack from the wooden brush making Melissa cry out and squirm on her mother's lap. Soon, her pale backside was a deep shade of pink.

Amy peeked over the edge of the quilt. Thinking she shouldn't be watching. She could only imagine how embarrassed poor Melissa felt, her bare bottom being thoroughly spanked in front of her friend. Silently, Amy counted the number of smacks from the brush. At the tenth, Melissa burst into tears. Her smug, very grown-up, know-it-all, best friend, crying like a baby over her mommy's lap. Amy began to feel funny all over.

Mrs. Monroe began to spank a little harder and a little faster. Melissa cried and tried in vain to wiggle her reddening tushie out of the way. When she began to kick her legs, Mrs. Monroe threw one leg over both of her daughter's small ones, effectively pinning her in place.

"Are you sorry you lied to mommy, Melissa?" she inquired, in between spanks.

"I am very disappointed in you, young lady! Maybe I should just tell Daddy and let him give you a good paddling when he gets home!"

"NOOO! OH, I'LL BE GOOD! OWWW!"

Mrs. Monroe peppered Melissa's scarlet bottom with a dozen or so more smacks from the smooth hairbrush.

Melissa wailed after each spank now, sobbing and hiccupping.

Amy had never seen a redder bottom. Actually, Amy had never seen any red bottoms. She had only been spanked a couple of times. When she was very little. But never like this. Never on the bare bottom. It looked like it hurt so much and when Amy thought of Mrs. Monroe giving her the same treatment, it made Amy feel sooo funny all over.

Finally, it was quiet. All quiet except for Melissa's sobbing. Mrs. Monroe kept her over her lap for another couple of minutes or so. Her bare, crimson bottom on display while she continued to lecture. When Melissa's sobs had subsided into whimpers, Mrs. Monroe let her up. She hugged her close and kissed the top of her head, then tucked her back into bed. She didn't tell Melissa's daddy when he got home later that night. She didn't scold Amy. And she certainly never spanked her either. It was winter time and they were eleven...

Amy paid the driver and climbed out of the cab. The snow had picked up and lightly dusted the sidewalk leading to the front door. Maybe she should have called. Would anyone be home? Anyone that Amy wanted to see?

Her tummy fluttered, as she rang the bell. A minute passed, then another. Finally, Mrs. Monroe opened the door. She looked the same, young and beautiful, maybe a few little character lines around her eyes and mouth. She appeared surprised, then pleased to see Amy. Of course, Melissa was not there. She had married earlier that year and no longer lived at home. But it was not Melissa that Amy had come to visit. Not today.

They sat in the living room, making small talk. Mrs. Monroe had always been easy to talk to. Easier than Amy's own mother.

"Remember when I used to sleep over?" Amy finally asked.

"Of course, dear, you and Melissa were the best of friends, you slept over often."

"Remember when we were eleven and we went into your room?" Amy asked, feeling the heat flush her face.

Mrs. Monroe looked puzzled for a moment, then a small smile stretched her lips. "Ah, you mean when you were both naughty and got into my makeup?. Yes, I remember. I am sure Melissa remembers that too."

Amy tried to look at Mrs. Monroe, but couldn't. "You know, I was at fault that night too. I spilled the perfume. I should have told you that."

"Yes, you should have, but it was a long time ago, dear. I believe I can forgive you," she said, smiling again.

Amy swallowed hard and forced herself to look up. "But... I should have gotten a spanking too. I still... feel guilty about that."

Mrs. Monroe studied the blushing young woman for a moment, then finally said quietly, " I see. And what do you think would help with this guilt, Amy?"

Seconds passed, a minute. All Amy heard was the ticking of the grandfather clock and her own harsh breathing.

"A spanking," she finally managed to whisper.

Another moment of quiet, then Mrs. Monroe said, "A spanking? I see. Well, I believe you are never too old for a good spanking. But you know, dear, the way spankings are administered in this house?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And how is that, Amy?"

Amy swallowed hard, then replied, "On the bare bottom."

"That's right and to help you with this guilt, I do believe I will have to use the hairbrush."

"Yes, ma'mn."

"Well, then, I believe you know where it is. Go get it for me."

Amy stood up. She felt like she was dreaming. Her knees were shaking as she walked into Melissa's old room. On the dresser was the hairbrush she remembered. She picked it up. It was smooth and heavy. Her bottom began to tingle. She glanced over at the bed, the covers neatly in place. No little girl peeking from beneath. It was winter time. She was no longer eleven...